As Simple as That
by KaryInTheSky
Summary: Outside: rain falls passively, pleasing its free will. Inside: Ron struggles once again trying to find the perfect way to ask a rather important question to a rather important person. A R/Hr Oneshot.


A comforting calmness dominated the afternoon. Eager raindrops covered it all: leaves, rocks, ground and water. It was the first rain within weeks. Up until today it had been one hot day after another and now, a powerful but smooth shower took over the grounds that surrounded the Burrow. Only its familiar symphony could be heard within miles. Inside the Burrow, though, a different scene was being displayed. Its habitants and regular visitors were making up for the stillness held outside.

For a home like The Burrow the scene was rather normal. From the kitchen came a warm scent that filled the house with Molly's cooking. The place was crowed in sounds, laughter, complains and the often sibling fighting. Mrs. Weasley was chasing Bill with a plate of food claiming that he was too thin. Percy kept reciting to George the Ministry's most recent restriction law on the use of certain explosive substances, until George's patience reached its short, regular limit. Audrey, Percy's wife, had brilliantly escaped long ago from his lecture and was now sitting with Ginny, who was showing an uncommon interest towards Audrey's pregnancy. Of course, Ginny claimed that she was too newlywed to be thinking of babies, no matter how eager Harry already was. Audrey simply nodded, her hands rubbing her huge stomach, knowing that deep down Ginny's words were far from being true.

On the other side of the living room Harry was trying to hold back Teddy, who was crying his lungs out because Victoire had pulled his electric blue hair. Victoire, held in Arthur's arms, was trying to outcry Teddy, a job rather easy for her. The scene was too much for Arthur and Harry together, and the kids were only getting louder and louder, until a very pregnant and therefore bad tempered Fleur walked in from the Kitchen mumbling something in French. She held Victoire, who's crying had become much softer the minute she had seen her mother's drastic approach.

Except for Charlie, who was in Romania, the scene was pretty much complete. But Hermione, who had passed the last fifteen minutes calling and searching for Crookshanks all over the house, noticed that another Weasley boy was missing.

Upstairs, in the room at the Attic, Ron sat on the side of his old bed. Outside the rain fell constantly and passively, trying to find its natural path down the bedroom window. It's a curious thing rain, how it can be so dominant and aggressive some times, but others it can be rather gentle and tranquilizing, like today. It's even more curious how rain seems to own the particular privilege of possessing everything it touches. One could envy rain sometimes, for behaving so fearless, so secure, and so willingly. Any guy would envy those particular features, especially when he finds himself struggling with insecurity and fear for one more time in his life. Any guy, like Ron, would envy the ability to persuade anything it wants so smoothly.

That's what Ron needed at that moment: to behave as smoothly as possible. He had been known for his lack of touch, to most people at least, because, for some strange reason Hermione didn't seem to think that anymore. Since they had been going out she had assured him more than once that he was quite sensitive and surprisingly smooth each time he wanted, but he just couldn't see it. And she was right, he couldn't see it. What he was about to do required a high amount of courage and he had no idea, no trace, no clue on how the hell he had to do it. In fact, he couldn't remember feeling so nervous in his life, and that certainly wasn't a smooth symptom.

He examined the small box one more time, passing it from one hand to another, the same small box he had been carrying with him for the past weeks.

Yes, weeks. He had had the ring for almost a month now and he still hadn't asked her the simple question. The real problem was that he couldn't handle the pressure, and he could only blame his sister for that. He knew he had committed a crime the day he told Ginny about his plans. He hadn't actually told her, she more or less walked in a conversation he was holding with Harry.

Of course she screamed with excitement, hugging him while shouting out how proud she was of him. She had obviously doubted that this would ever happen, as if he wasn't mature enough by now to figure out that the only real thing he wanted in life was spending it with Hermione. But between her shouts and hugs, the first thing Ginny questioned was the only thing Ron hadn't thought of:

"So, how are you going to propose?" she had asked him.

"Well, I haven't really thought of it. I mean…well…I'll just ask her. That's not really—"

Ginny didn't even let him finish the sentence. She reproached his lack of touch and told him how important the whole wedding dilemma really was for girls, and that he wasn't going to screw it up for Hermione. He had to propose in the most especial way he could think of, because to Hermione that was going to be a big deal.

"You better be spontaneous, romantic and sweet, of course," she commanded him.

From that moment, Ron found himself in the biggest of messes.

He didn't know when to do it, he didn't know how to do it, or what he was supposed to say. Was she expecting some sort of speech? Was she expecting him to do this at all? What if she said no? It could most certainly happen. Oh no, she was going to say no. He wasn't going to say the right thing, he was going to mess it up, upset her and she was definitely going to say no.

Ginny mortified him for the next weeks with questions about when he was planning to do it. But he couldn't think of the perfect way to ask her, he just wasn't cut for that. It wasn't fair, he thought. Of course he could take her to dinner, and maybe buy her some flowers and maybe ask her the question afterwards. Was that really so hard? _Hermione, will you marry me?_ That didn't seem as hard. But was he supposed to kneel down? Was that Ginny's definition of spontaneous and romantic? He knew his girlfriend more than well, and Hermione wasn't a girl who would settle for a prepared speech. But, then again, she had always been a sensitive girl, an emotional girl, the type of emotional that worries about every breathing member of this planet. Would that type of girl expect him to kneel down with the ring in one hand and a prepared speech on his mouth? That didn't sound spontaneous, but it probably was romantic…Merlin! Ginny really did mess him up.

What if he was left kneeling on the floor with a big '_you must be joking' _as an answer? No, Hermione would never do that to him, or would she? Maybe she would if he messed it up, and let's face it, he was going to mess it up.

_This is hell_, he thought.

His thoughts were abruptly disturbed by Crookshanks's purl, who had managed to wander into Ron's room. The cat walked in holding his tail high as he approached Ron.

"You are a lucky one," said Ron, "you certainly don't have to go through all this."

But Crookshanks' response was limited and, of course, not understandable. He tangled himself around one of Ron's leg demanding to be petted.

Ron looked through his bedroom window. The rain still held its harmonious dance against the glass, but the daylight was fading, it was almost night. He knew it was almost time for dinner as well, but for once he didn't feel like eating.

"Ron?" said a voice from outside the room. "Ron, are you up there?"

"Yeah…I'm here," he answered knowing who that voice belonged to. He suddenly realized that he was still holding the ring box in one hand, and with a quick move he slipped it inside the empty pocket of his pants.

Hermione walked inside the room and contemplated the image of her boyfriend and her cat. Crookshanks had settled on top of Ron's feet, and she couldn't hold back the smile.

"There you both are. I've been looking for you two," she said.

Ron threw a weak smile, which his girlfriend noticed instantly. She walked towards him and picked Crookshanks from his feet. With the pet in her arms she found a spot in the bed and sat next to Ron.

"Your mum is fixing dinner," she said.

"Yeah, I'll be right down," he answered looking at Crookshanks.

"She's going out of her mind. Fleur insists on teaching her how to fix some sort of French dish, and you know how your mum feels about her French cooking." A small smirk escaped Ron's lips.

"Ron, are you alright?" she asked hesitating.

No he wasn't, he wasn't alright. He was scared to death.

"Yeah sure, I'm fine, why?" His fake voice was too cheap.

"Ron, you have been behaving really weird lately and I—"

"No I haven't! I'm perfectly normal," he reacted too abruptly.

"Ron, come on, don't you want to talk about it? I know something's wrong, what's the point on—"

"Hermione I'm fine!" he said again. That was just great. He knew lying to Hermione had never worked, she could read right through him. And with his luck she was probably going to get the wrong idea, which could only make things worse.

She looked disappointed. Merlin, this would only make things harder. She could sense something, but she probably wasn't going to the sense the right thing. Well, at least he knew now that Ginny hadn't told her. He felt tempted to invite her out to dinner next week and get it all over with. Maybe if he screwed up very badly she would marry him out of pity. How pathetic was that? From downstairs came the outburst of another of Victories' crying rounds.

"Anyway, let's just go downstairs," she said, sounding more upset than disappointed. If he didn't do something quick she was going to get really mad at him for his suspicious behaviour.

As they walked their way downstairs he tried to think of some effective, pain free ways of proposing to her. Maybe he could write her a letter. That was romantic. But, was it the smoothest thing to do?

_Dear Hermione,_

_I love you, but you know that. Here's something new: will you marry me?_

_P.S: Please send me the answer with Pig right away_.

For some reason that felt even more pathetic than kneeling down and messing up a prepared speech. Ron knew he would end up doing the unthinkable. He was going to have to ask one of his brothers for help. Maybe even Fleur could help more than Ginny. Great, that was smooth, telling the whole family before Hermione. Hermione, now _she _would be the perfect person to ask for girl advice. She was the one who helped Harry out when he decided to propose to Ginny, and it all went out pretty well. But to his great misfortune, he was proposing to the only girl he wanted to ask for help.

"Ron, are you listening to me?" Interrupted Hermione "Honestly Ron, what's wrong with you?"

"Um, I-I"

But Ron was saved by the bell, or more likely the cat. Crookshanks made an annoying sound and slipped out of Hermione's arms heading straight for the backyard door.

"Crookshanks! Come back! Where are you going?"

But the cat was ahead of his owner. He ran through the door and headed for the rainy exterior. Hermione, of course, ran after him.

"Hermione! Where are you…? Oh, Brilliant!" said Ron. He looked around for something to cover himself with. The best he found was a Daily Prophet parchment. He grabbed it, covered his head with it, and immediately ran outside towards Hermione and Crookshanks's direction.

He ran for a few seconds until he found Hermione under an old, tall oak. She was standing under the rain looking up at one of the branches.

"Silly cat! Get down from there!" said Hermione as she looked up at a completely soaked Crookshanks, which for some reason didn't seem to mind. He shook his tail happily and purled down at his owner.

"I'm telling you that cat's mental," Stated Ron as he tried to cover himself properly with the soaked parchment of the Prophet. "I thought cats didn't like water."

"They don't Ron, but he won't come down!"

"Well…just _accio_ him!" suggested Ron brightly as he pulled his wand out of his pocket.

"No! Don't! He hates it when people do that," she answered stopping Ron by grabbing his arm firmly.

"So?"

"So? Would you want me to _accio_ you if you didn't like it?" she said raising her eyebrow.

"Hermione that's not a good example, you know I love it when you _accio_ me," he said with a crooked grin on his face. Hermione barely shook her head and rolled her eyes at him, trying to contain, in vain, the smile on her face.

Ron slid his wand inside his pocket again and realized that the piece of the prophet was doing a poor job on covering him from the rain, so he threw it on the ground instead. The rain wasn't hesitating, it fell persistently. But the drops weren't the kind that hurt like needles, they were, instead, the kind that slid gracefully down the skin, erasing the invisible burns left by previous hot days. It was relieving. He couldn't remember the last time he stood still underneath such fervent drops.

He gazed at Hermione, who was standing still under the same pouring rain showing a concerned face for her crazy cat. Her clothes were completely soaked, and he couldn't help but noticing how they were gently giving away her natural curves. Raindrops ran harmoniously down her forehead, her nose, her lips and her neck. The drops seemed to persuade her skin into complete harmony. He could see her hair declining to the rain's will as well, and for some reason he felt the urge of following the drops' tempting example of running his lips down her forehead, her nose, her lips and her neck. Wet definitely suited her.

He impulsively approached her and noticed that she was slightly trembling.

"Look at you, you're freezing," he said grabbing her shoulders. "Let Crookshanks get himself out of this one, and let's go inside".

She looked once again at the cat with a sigh of resignation, doubting for a minute if she should leave her pet out in the wet darkness.

"Alright," she answered with a subtle whisper, since he was close enough to hear her. She approached him a few inches, invading the space that stood between them. He felt the back of his neck trembling the minute she kissed his bottom lip gently. Despite the rain, her lips felt as warm as always.

"Come on," she said as she turned around towards the Burrow.

But Ron seriously thought that it hadn't been enough. She looked so darn beautiful to waste; he followed his urge to claim the rest of that kiss. He pulled her towards him gently and grabbed her face with one hand searching immediately for her warm lips again.

Hermione didn't show any form of resistance. On the contrary, she gave in easily. It was good to know that she wasn't mad at him for his weird behaviour.

He kissed her, placing his hand on his favourite spot around her waist, tightly enough to make sure she wouldn't pull away. He could still feel the raindrops invading their bodies. The wet particles of water tried to infiltrate their way through their lips. But this kiss was much more consuming than rain and water.

He felt her enticing fingers running through his hair. He loved it, as much as he loved her other hand feeling his back. He loved the effect her lips produced each time they touched him. He loved her soft skin brushing his. He loved her breathing so close to him. And now, he loved a new thing about her. He loved how her entire body looked underneath a rainy evening, he loved everything about it. It made her touch feel even more intense, her lips felt even warmer and her skin seemed even smoother.

Merlin, he loved her. He had to tell her how much he loved her. She already knew it well, but he had a sudden urge to remind her. He broke the endless kiss with a bit of regret and separated his lips only a couple of inches away from hers. He opened his mouth to spell it out, but his tongue managed to betray him, like it had done before.

"Marry me."

He stopped breathing. He wasn't sure of what he had just said. Actually, he didn't want to acknowledge what he had just said.

"What?" she said softly, opening her eyes, holding her breath.

"What?" was all that escaped from his mouth this time. Still trying to breathe properly, he felt a dominating dizziness taking over him.

Hermione's eyes shared Ron's disbelieve. He felt his ears boiling. What had he done? What was that? Was that a proposal? Did he just ask her to marry him out of nowhere? Well, to make things worse, he hadn't actually asked her. He more or less had commanded her to marry him. What the hell had he done? And to top it all he had said it with a ridiculous amount of nature in his voice, as if it was an everyday request. Because, that was just him.

_Pass me the sugar,_

_Don't look at me like that,_

_Stop it,_

_Come dance,_

_Marry me._

Ron's heart was running at its highest speed. He had messed it up, of course he had. Because that's how he did things: backwards. Like everything else, the words had slipped out of his mouth with the smallest amount of smoothness possible. Just like the first time he asked her to dance, with the menace of _Vicky_ around them. He had practically commanded her to dance with him. He wasn't thinking straight back then, and he wasn't thinking straight now.

He swallowed hard, still grabbing on to her waist. He wasn't holding her to make sure she pulled away anymore, he was holding her to make sure he didn't run away instead. What was he waiting for after this? Was he actually waiting for an answer? Maybe he should run after all.

"Are you serious?" She finally said. Her voice was weak and her breathing was exhilarated. Her sparkling eyes were starting to seem even more wet, and Ron knew it wasn't because of the rain. She was looking straight at him incredulously, probably waiting for an answer, probably waiting for an explanation, probably waiting for anything. He could hear distant voices coming from the Burrow, but his ears were crowed by the shower that fell upon them.

_Say something!_, he thought, _anything!_

He couldn't find the words to say, he was busy dying in embarrassment. But he suddenly remembered that he had a ring box resting inside one of his pockets. She wanted to know if he was serious, and he felt the urge to prove how serious he really was. There was no point on turning back now.

He let go of her waist and slipped one hand inside his pocket. He pulled the little box out of it and tried to recover his breath before opening it.

He opened the box and found the ring resting inside it. He heard Hermione's gasp, but he didn't dare to look at her, he was just acting by mare impulse. He had a ring on his hand, and he felt desperate to find the perfect place to put it.

In a risky action, he searched for Hermione's hand and grabbed it tightly with his own. He felt his other hand trembling as he dared to place the ring slowly on her finger. After doing this last he contemplated how perfect it looked. Her hand should never be naked from that ring again, it just wouldn't be right.

He finally plucked up the courage to look at her, hoping for the best. What he found was her face filled with tears. Her small tears incorporated with the raindrops that were still running down her face. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign, but she still looked beautiful. She had made a question. She wanted to know if he was serious, and he thought he had proven how serious he was. Still, he had to know if his point had been clear enough.

"What do you think?" He asked, still concentrating his eyes on hers. As he established eye contact he didn't feel so lost, he didn't feel he had messed up anymore. "Do you think I'm serious?"

She laughed. Her tender laugh was more than relieving. She threw herself in his arms and kissed him once more. But after only a couple of minutes of retaking the perfectly consuming kiss, Ron remembered he had asked her a question, and he needed an answer as well. He broke apart from her maintaining the short distance between their lips.

"You didn't answer me, you know. Is that a yes?" He asked grinning shyly.

"What do you think?" she answered whispering the words through the perfect smile that was covering her face. He felt a load of pressure leaving his body, washed away by the heavy raindrops. Not only was he pleased with his self, but he was acknowledging the fact that Hermione was indeed going to marry him.

Their intimate concentration was gently broken by a wet furry cat that was now on the ground stroking against their legs. They both looked down and saw Crookshanks heading for the house wearing his tail up with pride.

Hermione frowned, and shook her head lightly, sharing Ron's disconcert.

"Ron, did you…?" but she didn't finish the sentence. It was too stupid to mention.

"That cat is bloody scary, that's what it is," he answered. She looked at him puzzled.

"What?"

"He is! Well, actually he's not so bad. He's pretty smooth when you think about it."

She raised her eyebrow at him but smiled slightly.

"Okay, I guess you and my cat understand each other," her frown of amusement was growing.

"Our cat, I think," he squeezed her small, wet hand in his. She smiled again, returning the pressure and approaching him as close as possible.

"Yes, our cat."

_A/N:Thanks for reading! And please remember to leave a review. Even if it's short it will be highly appreciated._


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